


we'll make our bets

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bets, Crossdressing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras loses a bet and has to wear a skirt to class. Grantaire cannot stop staring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll make our bets

When Grantaire goes to his philosophy lecture for the first time all semester, it's because Enjolras has lost a bet. It's Enjolras' fault, really, for pestering Grantaire about that essay he hadn't started until three hours before it was due. Enjolras hadn't thought that Grantaire wouldn't be able to complete it on time, much less _pass_. Grantaire had bet that he would, and that he'd get an A. Enjolras had accepted the bet, and Courfeyrac had helpfully added that whichever one of them lost the bet would have to go to the next philosophy lecture wearing a skirt.

Enjolras had accepted, thinking that he wouldn't lose. 

Grantaire had accepted, knowing that Enjolras _would_.

So here he is, sitting at the back of the lecture theatre, next to Bossuet and Bahorel, because if he has to go, he's making them go as well. 

Then Enjolras walks in with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and Grantaire nearly chokes on air. Enjolras is wearing a high-waisted black skirt that stops at the middle of his thigh. He's wearing a white button-up shirt that he's tucked in and has left his long, blond hair out instead of tying it up like he usually does.

He's utterly gorgeous, and Grantaire is pretty sure he's going to die if he doesn't remember how to breathe sometime soon. 

Bahorel kicks Grantaire's foot, snickering under his breath. Grantaire clears his throat, but doesn't look away from Enjolras. Their eyes meet across the room as Enjolras walks to the seats at the front, and Enjolras simply raises an eyebrow at him. Grantaire licks his lips, glad that Enjolras is already sitting down and looking away so he misses it.

The lecture continues on, sounding much the same as most of the lecture recordings that Grantaire plays in the background when he's painting. They're mostly boring, except for the bits when the students start debating. It's usually Enjolras leading the debate, to the surprise of none, and he does it again today. Judging by the looks that he's getting, most of the other students know exactly who he is and have taken notice of the way he is dressed today. Some people look puzzled, some look amused, while others look completely unbothered. Grantaire, for his part, doesn't take any notes, too busy _staring_. It doesn't matter that Enjolras is sitting down and Grantaire can't actually see his skirt, or his legs, or anything except the back of his head, really. Grantaire has had enough casual sex with Enjolras to make up for it, and a brilliant imagination to boot.

He only half pays attention to the discussion going on, but when Enjolras says something that Grantaire disagrees with, he jumps in immediately. Enjolras gets to his feet, turning around to respond to Grantaire, which is when their philosophy lecturer sputters.

"Enjolras," he says, flustered and fiddling with his glasses. "Are you wearing a _skirt_?"

Enjolras turns back around to look at him and in an even voice, asks, "Is that a problem, sir?"

Grantaire, forgoing all attempts at subtlety, bites his fist. Bahorel, the asshole, snickers even louder this time. Some of the people around them glance at him, assuming that he's snickering at the professor. 

At the front of the room, he clears his throat. "N-No. Not at all." 

"Good," Enjolras says, and then turns around to argue his point with Grantaire.

Grantaire argues back, matching Enjolras point for point, until it feels less like a debate and more like foreplay. He's clearly not the only one who thinks so, judging by the heated look Enjolras gives him before they're both made to shut up and sit down so the class can continue. Grantaire doesn't protest. There's only ten minutes left anyway.

As soon as those ten minutes are up, Grantaire stands, grabbing his bag, walking down to the front of the room, and pulling Enjolras aside. 

"Grantaire—"

"When's your next class?"

"I have a three-hour break—"

"Good. You're coming with me."

"I know," Enjolras replies. He shrugs. "Courfeyrac is well-aware that I have a three-hour break after Philosophy on Wednesdays."

"I don't know whether I want to thank him or punch him," Grantaire mutters.

"Oh, I know what you want to do," Enjolras tells him, "and it's neither of those things."

Grantaire doesn't even know how they get back to his apartment—a fifteen minute walk—without him losing his patience. Especially not with the way Enjolras' skirt swishes as he walks. He's even wearing black slip-on shoes and Grantaire had no idea that any of this would turn him on as much as it is. 

Then finally, they're inside, with the door shut behind them. They stare each other down, like this is a game, like whoever is more patient wins. 

_Fuck that_ , thinks Grantaire, and steps forward, crushing their lips together. He definitely doesn't feel like he's lost anything.

Enjolras' hands go into Grantaire's hair immediately and their mouths open against each other, tongues sliding against each other until they're moaning together, and just kissing is nowhere near enough. 

Grantaire walks Enjolras backwards towards the couch, until the back of his legs meet the cushions and he sits down. His legs are spread, skirt riding up so that it barely conceals anything. Grantaire can see the outline of Enjolras' cock and the entire sight before him is—obscene. Enjolras is _obscene_ and Grantaire tells him so, settling on his knees.

"Can't believe you fucking _shaved_ ," Grantaire breathes, pressing his lips to the soft skin of Enjolras' thigh. 

"Of course I did. You know I don't do things halfway."

"I do," Grantaire murmurs, except then he pushes Enjolras' skirt up and out of the way, only to find that he's wearing tight black briefs to _match_ the skirt, and moans again. 

He mouths at the black material, not pulling it away but tracing the outline of Enjolras' cock with his lips and tongue. Enjolras' hands go to his hair again, tugging slightly. 

"Are you going to suck me off?" Enjolras asks breathily, rocking his hips. He moans when Grantaire applies a little more pressure with his tongue, and tugs harder on his hair. "I was trying not to think about it when we were in class. Trying not to think about your clever mouth on my cock—"

"Mm, not a good idea in a skirt." Grantaire presses wet kisses along the inside of Enjolras' thigh. "Everyone would have seen just how badly you wanted it. Just like now."

Enjolras' breath hitches loudly as Grantaire strokes him through the material of his briefs. Grantaire thumbs the head of Enjolras' cock, licking his lips when he feels the damp spot there.

"Do you want me to beg?" Enjolras whispers, hooking one of his legs over Grantaire's shoulder to pull him closer. "Because I will. I know you like to hear it, and you know just how prettily I can beg."

" _Fuck_ ," Grantaire laughs breathlessly. The fact that Enjolras can offer such a thing without hesitation says enough about how often they've done this. "No, no, you don't have to beg for this, Enjolras. Not when I've been thinking about how badly I want to do this since you walked into that lecture theatre. I'm going to blow you, but I'm not letting you come like that. I want you to come when I'm fucking you, and I want you to need it so badly that you can't even talk."

Enjolras' loud moan is all the approval Grantaire needs. He turns to suck a mark onto the inside of Enjolras' thigh, hands stroking along the smooth skin of his legs, mesmerised by the feel of it.

Laughing quietly, Enjolras brushes his fingers down the side of Grantaire's face. "I do believe that this was worth all the time it took last night, judging by how much you seem to be enjoying yourself."

"Definitely," Grantaire growls. "And next time, I want you in matching panties, just so I can wreck them. Fuck, Enjolras, I'll buy them for you myself if I have to."

" _Next time_ ," Enjolras murmurs, "I have a feeling we're not going to leave your bed."

"Sounds about right," Grantaire replies. "But for now…"

He pulls Enjolras' briefs down, freeing his cock and wrapping his lips around just the head, teasing him with light sucks that are nothing close to what either of them want. He waits until Enjolras makes an impatient noise at the back of his throat, and laughs quietly before swallowing him all the way down. 

" _Fuck_ , Grantaire." Enjolras' voice already sounds wrecked. He cries out when Grantaire runs his tongue along the underside of his cock, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. He pulls off with a sound that makes Enjolras groan, his hips thrusting into the empty air between them. 

"Turn around," Grantaire murmurs. "Stay like that for me."

Enjolras does as he's told, and Grantaire gets up to grab the lube and condoms from his room. When he returns, Enjolras is bent over the couch, briefs halfway down his legs.

"You're so good," Grantaire tells him, taking hold of the briefs with one hand and pulling them all the way off, letting Enjolras step out of them before he tosses them aside. "So good, Enjolras."

With a hand on Enjolras' back, Grantaire guides him to kneel on the floor, his arms on the couch cushions. "Keep both your hands right here, okay? You're not allowed to touch yourself until I'm fucking you and then I'll—I'll think about it." 

Grantaire uncaps the bottle of lube and gets his fingers slick, using his other hand to brush Enjolras' hair aside so it hangs over one shoulder. He rubs his index in teasing circles around Enjolras' entrance and kisses the nape of his neck. Then, Grantaire gently pushes his finger in, letting Enjolras adjust for a moment before scraping his teeth over the nape of his neck.

Enjolras responds to that with a full-body shudder and a quiet gasp. Grantaire does it again, and again, until the skin of Enjolras' neck is turning a faint pink from the pressure of his teeth. Grantaire slides a second finger into Enjolras without effort, curling them both just gently, waiting for Enjolras' cut-off moan to tell him he's found the right spot.

Then, because he's a contrary little prick and proud of it, he proceeds to miss it on purpose.

" _Grantaire_." Enjolras knows exactly what he's doing, but can't help the way his hips jerk, trying to get Grantaire's fingers back where he wants them. "Fuck— _fuck_ , almost—ahh fuck, I hate you so much."

"Sure you do," Grantaire murmurs, trailing kisses down Enjolras' back and spreading him open.

"Are you really—" is all Enjolras manages to say before Grantaire is replacing his fingers with his tongue, fucking him with it, silently promising all this and more later when they're fucking properly. 

The thing is, as much as Grantaire loves to tease Enjolras, he's quickly running out of patience. Nothing makes Enjolras incoherent quite as quickly as this does, especially not when Grantaire slides his fingers back in, just the way Enjolras needs. 

"I—ah—I—" Enjolras doesn't babble, even when he's incoherent. He's stubborn as ever, trying and failing to string words together into a sentence.

"Yeah." Grantaire kneels up, pressing a kiss to the nape of Enjolras' neck. He's achingly hard. He has no idea how he's going to last long enough to fuck Enjolras the way he really wants. "I know. Come here." 

He sits back on the couch, undoing his jeans, yanking them down along with his boxers, so his cock is finally free. He wraps his fingers around the base, squeezing as he gathers every shred of self-control he has left. He rolls the condom on, slicks himself, and Enjolras is already in his lap, bracing against the back of the couch with one hand, holding up his skirt with the other, sinking onto Grantaire's cock, all the way down.

For a moment, neither of them can move, neither of them can even _breathe_. They stay there, foreheads pressed against each other. Grantaire slides his hands under Enjolras' skirt, holding his hips. He waits for Enjolras to make the first move.

Unsurprisingly, the pace Enjolras sets is rough, demanding, almost lifting himself off Grantaire's cock entirely before slamming back down. He repeats it and this time, Grantaire thrusts up to meet him. They moan, watching each other, their arms wrapping around each other to keep themselves as close as possible. Grantaire's shirt is riding up, and Enjolras' cock is pressed between his stomach and the material of the skirt. Grantaire can feel the way he's dripping all over the place and he wishes he could take Enjolras in hand and stroke him, but he doesn't want to let go for long enough to do so. 

"I'm—" Enjolras gasps, and Grantaire understands. He tightens his grip on Enjolras and lifts, staggering to his feet just so he can turn them around, so Enjolras is half sitting, half lying on the couch and Grantaire can thrust into him. He's finally able to spare a hand to jerk Enjolras off and when Enjolras comes, Grantaire can feel it on his stomach, he's certain it's on his shirt, and he doesn't even care because with a few more thrusts, he's coming as well and they just hold onto each other, riding out their orgasms, taking their time coming down from their high. 

" _Fuck_ ," Grantaire murmurs, grinning once he's regained his breath. Their faces are so close together that their noses are brushing. "We really need to do that more often."

"We do," Enjolras replies, and pulls Grantaire down for a kiss. "Maybe without the need for a pointless bet next time."

"Pointless, what—oh, you clever little shit. You knew this would happen."

Enjolras gives him an innocent smile, which very quickly turns wicked. "I might have had something to do with it."

"Courfeyrac's skirt idea—"

"Was mine? Yes. I wanted it. I wasn't sure how to bring it up." 

"Fucking hell, Enjolras." Grantaire laughs. "For future reference, you could wake me up in the middle of the night wearing a skirt and I'd roll with it."

"Noted," Enjolras replies. "Don't think I won't take you at your word."

"Oh, I _know_ you will." It's one of the reasons Grantaire loves Enjolras so much, but that's another thought for another time. For now, he throws his condom out and focuses on getting them undressed and into the shower. Preferably together.


End file.
